


5 Times Miranda Was An Idiot And 1 Time She Wasn't

by elle_nic



Category: The Devil Wears Prada (2006)
Genre: Crack, F/F, Fluff, Fluff and Crack, Happy Ending, Romance, miranda is a big dumb babie, this wip was so old lmao
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-06
Updated: 2020-04-06
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:47:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23513347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elle_nic/pseuds/elle_nic
Summary: In which desks are walked into, coffee is spilled and papers are dropped. Oh, and Miranda gets the girl.
Relationships: Miranda Priestly/Andrea Sachs
Comments: 34
Kudos: 342





	5 Times Miranda Was An Idiot And 1 Time She Wasn't

**Author's Note:**

> this wip is so so old :( but now it's finished and i can move it to my complete and published folder!! it's cracky and kinda cute but it's 2am for me right now so i could just be insane, too. it's unbeta'ed but proof-read. enjoy!

1.

The first time it happened, Miranda was in denial about it. She had spent her moments in the elevator mentally prepping herself for the day ahead as she usually did and glided out in a picture of grace and ferociousness as was her routine. Emily was there to catch the Book as she carelessly slung it into her hands and take the first set of instructions for the day. As they walked down the marble hallway people stopped their stride and spun on their heel out of her way. There was nothing out of the ordinary, it was a perfect morning... Until it wasn’t.

She hadn’t stopped talking to Emily as they made it to the plush carpet of the inner offices and she hadn’t yet turned to look for the second assistant, wherever the girl was traipsing. Her first mistake, obviously.

“And tell Bernadette that no, the twelve models she sent weren’t satisfactory. I asked her, very clearly, Emily, for tall, androgynous and toned women and she sent me pale, rounded and delicate. Is it really so hard to find-”

A slight turn of her head and there by the second assistant’s desk she noticed a woman in a sleek Tom Ford dress, sling-back Choos and a blisteringly bright smile. The pause was not long, of course, but it was noticeable enough for Emily to peer up at her questioningly from her notebook.

“Is it really so hard to find an androgynous model? No, I don’t think so.” And god knows Miranda Priestly never scampers, but, well, if her gait was particularly rushed everyone knew better than to comment.

She was glad her list of orders was lengthy because it meant that the strange ( _beautiful_ , her mind interrupted) thing that had appeared as if from nowhere would be gone from the office most of the morning. Emily was smart enough not to linger on her minor slip.

_God_ , she thought as she sipped her perfectly tempered coffee. _It’s going to be a long day._

2.

It was not ideal, Miranda fumed, to be delayed at the airport in the wake of an emergency call to attend a shoot in California. She had things to do and without a proper space to set herself up, her time was being wasted. Not to mention it was nearly one in the morning, and neither she nor her staff had had a spare moment since the call came through at lunch time.

It had been the worst day for her in many years. First, an hour-long meeting during which Irv berated her every expenditure and ran over his allotted half an hour, then she had to delay a preview which she had been looking forward to, then she had to cut her own lunch break short to squeeze in a run-through and now the San Francisco shoot was botched to high heaven and- _for goodness sake, incompetence is running rampant._

It had taken several hours for Emily and Andréa (and she was Andréa these days, even to the brunette’s face) to figure out the logistics of flying Miranda and a team of people to the west coast for tomorrow. The result had not been ideal, the only flights available to them being at three in the morning which would get them to the shoot at 10 the next morning. Her staff had been sent home at five and were told to pack luggage for a three-day excursion and then meet at the airport.

So, there she sat at the lounge the airport had sectioned off for the two dozen or so _Runway_ staff members waiting for Andréa to bring her a coffee and something to eat (no, she had not felt her heart warm at the way Andréa knew she was hungry without asking).

“Here you go,” Andréa said, sitting on the other end of the three-person sofa. She held out a small coffee. Again, there was no way she was touched by how Andréa knew she disliked large coffees before travel of any sort.

“It’s hot,” Andréa said, holding out a fruit salad from the Starbucks near the lounge. Miranda raised a brow.

“There’s no apple in it. I checked.” Miranda nodded and accepted the food, watching as Andréa walked over to where Nigel and Emily stood talking quietly after a swift nod from Miranda.

She sat and sipped her coffee, cursing the idiots in charge of the San Francisco shoot and oddly enjoying the unique atmosphere of an international airport at midnight. She was just beginning to calm down when she, by pure chance, looked over to where Nigel and Andréa and Emily were stood to see her second assistant laugh, wink, then blow a kiss. The cup of her coffee slipped from her slack hand and landed on her lap, only spilling a few drops on her black slacks due to the smaller cup size.

It felt as though the eyes of every member of her entourage snapped to her, but only Andréa moved closer. She was the only one brave—or stupid—enough to try to help _Miranda Priestly_ of all people.

“No burns?”

“Do I look burned?”

“Good.”

Miranda, through sheer power of will alone, staved off the blush of embarrassment all the way to SFO.

3.

Busy was too polite a word for the culture at _Runway_ , Miranda thought. If she wasn’t configuring the layout for a spread, or in a run-through, or at a lunch with a designer, or the studio of a designer, she was on the phone. If she wasn’t on the phone, she was giving orders to Emily or Andréa, who both did their best to keep up, Miranda knew. This was one such time, when Miranda was about to give a series of orders to Emily as she walked to her office.

“I’m sick of James calling and asking for advice on his designs. This is a magazine, not a day-care, and it is not our responsibility to hold his hand at every step he takes to conclude his collection,” Miranda said blandly, entering the outer offices. She spied Andréa in the kitchenette in a, frankly, heart-attack inducing backless blouse and pencil skirt. Miranda did well not to trip over the air. “Tell Andréa that I will have lunch with her on Wednesday, but if she’s just going to bemoan a lack of inspiration this season then she can dine alone.” Then she breezed up to her second assistant’s desk to take off her coat and leave to be put away.

She looked up when the silence around her became obvious. Andréa was staring at her with a furrowed brow and Emily was fidgeting, stepping side to side in anxiousness.

“What?” she snapped at them both. Emily cleared her throat and stuttered for too long to come up with an explanation.

“Donatella,” Andréa said slowly. “You’re having lunch with Donatella on Wednesday…”

“That’s what I said,” Miranda glared.

“Of course, just making sure,” Andréa said acquiescingly.

It was only when Miranda returned from a bathroom break that morning that she realised her mistake.

_Well,_ she thought, watching Andréa work diligently, _lunch isn’t the worst idea I’ve ever had._

4.

“What do you mean she’s bringing a plus one,” Miranda fumed.

In two days, _Runway’s_ annual benefit would be held at the Met and Miranda was anxiously awaiting to attend. She had not been as excited in the lead up last year, but then, she hadn’t realised that Andréa would look so… _polished_ in vintage Valentino. Now, Miranda knew better, and she knew that Andréa had embraced a certain style, one that accentuated her generous figure. As an invitee, Andréa was treated to the same privileges as anyone else invited to the event, and apparently, Andréa had decided to bring a plus one and no one had informed Miranda of this.

“Well, Miranda, I’m not sure how else to phrase it,” Nigel said from the phone, no doubt busy with the edits Miranda had demanded of him.

“She’s—she’ll be working,” Miranda spat. “She’ll be busy with me!”

“You only ever use your assistants for an hour or so,” Nigel said flippantly. “She’s free after that, no? Hence, her plus one.”

“I don’t like it,” Miranda said, dangerously close to pursing her lips in somewhat of a pout. “Not a bit.”

“Then ask her to be _your_ plus one. She’s enchanted by you these days, I’m sure she’d agree.”

Miranda got the distinct feeling that Nigel was joking on this point, but Miranda did not joke and especially not on matters of the heart.

“The only good idea I’ve heard all day,” Miranda mused, her mind busy with the logistics of coordinating Andréa’s outfit so close to the event. They had to match, of course.

“What? Miranda, I—”

Miranda hung up.

“Andréa.”

“Yes, Miranda?”

“You will be attending the benefit with me tomorrow. Go to Nigel and tell him to get a dress that will suit mine.”

“I—um, yes, Miranda.”

“That’s all.”

5.

“I can’t believe you had a crush on me,” Andréa laughed as they lay in bed. “That’s cute.”

“Well,” Miranda huffed. “We’re married now, so it’s not so unbelievable.” Andréa rolled onto her side to look at her wife.

“You were so silly in those last months I worked for you,” Andréa laughed. Miranda was hesitant to agree, but the brunette was right. It was years ago now, but Miranda distinctly remembered walking into more desks, spilling more coffee and dropping more papers than she ever had in her whole career put together in those final months of Andréa’s tenure.

“Silly?” Miranda repeated, eyes wide in shock. “I have never been described as _silly_ in all my life! How dare you!”

Andréa only laughed and kissed her nose.

“Don’t pout,” the chuckling brunette managed between laughter.

“I could not have been so silly if I eventually asked you to marry me. It was a genius decision on my part,” Miranda sniffed. “Now I have the benefits of an assistant and the comforts of a wife in one person. Remarkable.”

“Power move,” Andréa agreed, kissing her cheek then her jaw and neck. “So clever,” she said, nibbling on a collarbone.

“Oh,” Miranda said, surprised at her ability to feel aroused even after the evening they’d already had.

“Speaking of the comforts of a wife,” Andréa husked.

_Yes,_ Miranda thought as the night progressed in much the same way. _Very, very clever_.


End file.
